Stranger Than Non-Fiction
by CherriiMarina
Summary: Hermione finds Harry writing stories about her and her secret crush. Stories that make her blush and her body tingle. Mortified, she runs away, gripping the stories tightly in her hands. What will happen when the object of her affections accidentally gains possession of one of the pages? MM/HG romantic. Femmeslash.
1. Chapter 1

There are excerpts in this story, taken and slightly modified from my previous body of work. If you are interested in the source stories, the excerpts are labeled with the title of the source piece and the chapter from which it was taken. I have taken nothing from other writers. (Well, except the characters, etc belong to Jo, of course. But I'm only playing around for a bit and mean no copyright infringement.)

* * *

Hermione rushed along the corridor, stumbling now and then, face red and fingers anxiously gripping at the papers in her hands, pressing them tightly against her chest. Her eyes were wild, and her face was splotchy with anger and embarrassment and fear and an overwhelming sense of shame.

Half an hour earlier:

Hermione walked into the Library, intent on finding a book of fiction or poetry to pore over. It was the Saturday following her last NEWT exam, and she needed to unwind after all the stress of studying and exams. As she made the turn toward the proper section, she saw the head of messy black hair of her best friend, bent over and writing furiously on the Muggle loose-leaf paper with a normal everyday ink pen. She wondered what he could be writing on it, knowing it couldn't have been anything school-related, or it would have been on parchment using a quill and ink – and besides which, exams were all over.

"What's this, Harry?" she asked, walking up and looking over his shoulder.

He scrambled to turn the papers over in an effort to hide his work. "Oh, um, nothing. Nothing at all. Just reading notes for a project I've been working on."

"Reading notes? But there are no books." Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips curled up on one side. He had to be lying, but about what? Why would he lie?

He mumbled and stammered, making very little sense with few words actually making it past his lips, face growing hot and red, flushing to the tips of his ears, and that's when she saw it. It was backward, and the ink was faint when read through the paper from the other side, but it was clearly her name.

"Harry, why is my name in what you were writing?"

"Aw, damn." His head hit the tabletop with a loud thump, drawing a few idle looks from the other students gathered in the Library. "I give up," he muttered, and slid the papers across the table, where she picked them up and began reading. Her mouth formed an o-shape and a blush quickly overtook her face, moving down her neck.

"Oh, my," she whispered, continuing to skim through what was written on the paper.

"Harry Potter! What in the world is this?" She tore the pages out of her field of view and used them to fan her hot face furiously.

"Ever since you told me that stuff about yourself last week, I can't seem to get it out of my mind. These images just keep coming, and I can't stop it, so I thought if I just put it all down on paper and burned it after, it would help."

Her eyes narrowed, and she stopped fanning herself, instead rolling the sheaf of paper up and using it to point at him. "That is incredibly creepy, Harry, and a huge invasion of my privacy," she hissed out.

"Well I wasn't intending for you to see it! I didn't intend anyone to see it!"

"Harry… nobody else has seen this, have they?"

His eyes, the ones so often remarked upon as being those of his mother, veered from side to side, refusing to meet her own amber-hued gaze.

"Harry!" she yelled, drawing a sharp shushing and a look of warning from Madam Pince.

"I was working on a story – a different one – last night in bed, and…" his voice lowered and he stammered out, "Ronmaybesawitandreadit."

"Harry, if you have given away information this personal, this private, this sensitive to Ronald Weasley, the boy with less emotional range than anyone his age I've ever met, I swear to you that I will never, ever speak to you again."

"He doesn't know, Hermione, I swear!" His voice was raised, causing Madam Pince to shush them again, the look on her pointed face getting nastier at the repeated offense. "He just thinks they're idle fantasies and nothing more."

"THEY? There's more than one of these floating around?" Her embarrassment and shame turned to anger at the thought of people reading these … things about herself and … "Oh god," she thought to herself. "What if _she_ got ahold of this?"

"Well, not really floating around. I have them all in my bag."

She was mortified. She was angry. She was seething, emotions high and easily read on her face, as she demanded, "Give them all to me. Right bloody now."

He started to reach for his bag, but hesitated. "But…"

"Do not test me right now, Harry. I am very close to pulling my wand on you, and I don't care who it was who actually defeated Voldemort last May, if you don't give me those stories this instant, I'm going to curse you to kingdom come."

He'd been friends with her long enough to recognize the seriousness of the threat, and with fear in his eyes, he grabbed up his bag from the floor beside his chair and pulled out a thick sheaf of papers, bound in sets with some thin twine in the holes, handing the stack over to her.

There were at least ten sets of the bound pages, not including the unbound one he'd been working on when she found him, and each set was several pages in length. She was horrified. "Are they all like this one?"

"Some are better. Some are worse. I'm sorry, Hermione. I just … I needed to get the never-ending stream of images out of my head, and this seemed like the best way. I'm sorry!"

"You are not forgiven, Harry. Not yet, and depending on what's in here, possibly not ever." She leafed through a couple of the stories, her horror growing, and face flushing brighter and hotter at some of what she read. "I cannot believe you would do this. This is a gross violation of the trust I placed in you, and I am angry and disappointed."

His head thumped loudly on the table again. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, voice muffled from his face pressing against the wooden tabletop.

"All right there, Hermione? Harry?" Ron's voice rang out cheerfully as he strode up to the table.

Hermione quickly cast a modified notice-me-not and disillusionment charm on the bundle of papers in her hands, hoping he hadn't seen them already. "Everything is quite alright, Ronald."

She risked looking at him and immediately wished she hadn't. There was a lecherous leer on his face as he raked his eyes down her body, evaluating whether or not what he'd read the night before was an accurate image of what she looked like under her robes. "If you'll excuse me." She turned and forced herself to walk steadily out of the Library. It was only after she cleared the doors and closed them behind her that she began to run. She needed to get to the Room of Requirement and finish seeing what her admissions the week before had wrought in her friend's mind.

She was nearly at her destination. She could see the tapestry which marked the location of the hidden door just ahead, and began slowing her pace. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, and with her eyes closed, immediately ran into something, tripping and spilling the sheets and bundles of paper all over the floor.

"Oh, Merlin, I am so sor…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. _NO_. In her haste, she'd inadvertently run into the very last person she wanted to see just then.

"No need to apologize, Miss Granger. It's neither the first nor last time I'll be run into whilst strolling through the corridors of this school." The clipped words spilled out of Headmistress McGonagall's mouth as she smiled down on Hermione's sprawled form.

Hermione scrambled from sitting on her bottom with limbs akimbo to her knees, gathering the papers as quickly as she could. She'd managed to knock a few loose parchments from McGonagall's hand as well, and she separated them with deft fingers, rolling the sheaves of paper again, trying to prevent her former teacher and current school administrator from accidentally seeing any of the words written there.

With everything gathered together into the separate stacks, and the loose-leaf papers tightly rolled, she stood and extended the parchment stack toward McGonagall, smiling at her. "I'm sorry, anyway, Professor. Here are your papers back."

McGonagall accepted them with a smile. "I sort of wish I didn't have to get them back." Her nose crinkled slightly, making Hermione's heart flip-flop in her chest. "It's only reports from various school departments to do with budgets and how well we're staying within them here at the end of term. It's all dreadfully boring to get through, but a Headmistress' job is never done."

Hermione laughed quietly, some of the tension in her frame going away. "I hope you manage to find some entertainment as you read through them. Perhaps there will be something interesting this time."

A soft laugh sputtered out of her thin lips. "I very much doubt that, Miss Granger, but thank you for the sentiment all the same."

"Of course, Professor, and I apologize again for inconveniencing you."

"It was no inconvenience at all. Good day, Miss Granger."

"Good day, Headmistress."

As soon as McGonagall cleared the next turn, Hermione sprinted the last few yards to the hidden door, closed her eyes and paced, thinking loudly that she needed a place to read and think for a while.

The door appeared, and in she went. The Room had provided her with a cozy room, fireplace flickering cheerfully, with comfortably squishy chairs on either side of it, a short oval-shaped table between them. There were tall bookshelves along the walls, and off to one side, it had provided a four-poster bed like the ones in her dormitory, but with a larger frame and mattress, draped with maroon velvet hangings and coverings with gold-braided trim. In a little niche underneath a tall window, there was a reading/writing desk, daylight spilling in from outside, the view looking out over the Black Lake, the lights and chimney-smoke of Hogsmeade Village off in the far distance past the lake.

She wasn't sure if that view was actually possible, given the location of the Room, but decided that she didn't care if the view was real or simulated, it was perfect.

She sat at the desk and spread the sheaves of paper out across its surface. There were numbers in the top left corner of each of the cover sheets, indicating the order in which they'd been written. Deciding to start at the beginning, she picked up the one with the number one circled, set it in front of her, and began reading.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-Excerpt from Story One (Uninvited Ch1)-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 _Her knuckles turn white as she applies pressure to the hand within her grasp, and she gasps with pleasure. "Please," she begs, needing completion. A moment later, a muffled scream heralds her release, and Hermione stands to press damp lips to her own, the fingers of her other hand still below, soothing her body through the aftershocks of climax. She can taste herself on Hermione's lips, but does not mind._

 _Her knees turn to jelly, and she begins to slide down the stone wall. Hermione catches her and holds her up, guiding them to the nearby bed. They tumble into the mattress, spent and exhausted, and fall quickly to sleep, closely twined together, words of love escaping with a sigh._

-=-=-=-=-=-=-Excerpt from Story Five (Foolish Games)-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 _She lowers her head and kisses Hermione again, pouring all her love into the motion of her lips and tongue, enjoying the breathy sounds her lips bring as they leave and trail down Hermione's neck and chest. She pays loving attention to her breasts for several minutes before moving lower. "Mine," she growls as she reaches her target, and uses her mouth and fingers together to bring Hermione to a towering peak, making her crash over it, tongue laving over her clit while her fingers are buried deep within, feeling the hard contractions as Hermione falls, screaming her name._

-=-=-=-=-=-=-Excerpt from Story Nine (Down With It Ch1)-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 _Her fingers move lower, nails scratching gently at the exposed skin of Hermione's lower belly, just above her glistening target. The warm scent emanating from the apex of her thighs is intoxicating, and her mouth waters with the need to taste from the source. She kneels in front and uses her hands to push the soft, smooth flesh of Hermione's thighs apart, leaning in and inhaling deeply, fingers squeezing involuntarily, leaving ten small bruises behind on the smooth skin and tight muscles._

 _She makes one long, slow swipe with her tongue, and Hermione collapses back onto the table, her arms no longer capable of keeping her upright._

 _Oh gods, she thinks, she tastes as good as she smells. She dives back in with abandon, her mouth and tongue working on Hermione's clit, two fingers driving into her tight, slick channel, thrusting in time with the movements of her tongue._

-=-=-=-=-=-=-Excerpt from Story Eleven (She Who Turns Time Ch11)-=-=-=-=-=-=-

 _Hermione's lips don't stay still very long, moving on again, trailing down to the red mark at the base of her neck before moving ever on, nipping at her collarbone before going even lower, finally reaching the gentle swell of a breast. Her fingers clench tightly in the satin material of the sheets as Hermione's hot mouth covers the tight nipple of her left breast, sending swirls down to the tingling mass in her belly, making her back arch up from the sensations. When the cool air of the room rushes back over the hot flesh, she nearly cries out from the loss, but the heat simply moves to the other breast, giving it the same attention as its mate._

 _She can't stop the mewling noises from leaving her throat, thoroughly enjoying the feel of those hot lips and smooth tongue as they pay homage to each breast in turn before leaving, another trail of kisses leading lower across her stomach, tongue dipping briefly into her navel on its way down._

 _Hermione slips off the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor, and pulls her several inches toward her, nudging at her knees so she can kneel between them. She can see the pink flesh in front of her darkening as blood begins to rush into it in response._

-=-=-=-=-=-=-End of Excerpts-=-=-=-=-=-=-

She got to the end of the eleventh and final completed story, and sat back in her chair. She thought Harry wasn't actually a terrible writer, although it was more than a little disturbing to think about him envisioning her in such compromising situations and being able to conjure up the words to write about it in such detail. Some were decidedly raunchier than others, and all of them paired her with the same partner.

When she'd admitted to Harry the week before that she was fairly certain she was into women and not men, he'd assured her that he would continue to be her friend no matter what. When she'd also said that she had a massive crush on a certain woman, and might very well be in love with her, he'd been a bit more shell-shocked, but after a few awkward minutes of silence, he said he could actually see it. It made sense to him, he'd said. She just didn't know with how much detail and clarity he could see it until she'd read through his works of short fiction.

She smirked to herself. At least she didn't need to worry about Harry not accepting her for who she was. She did wonder with whom he had found the experience to write his pornography. Despite a brief trial the previous summer while they'd all worked to restore Hogwarts, he and Ginny had split amicably, and she hadn't heard anything – either from him or from the active rumor mill – about him being with anyone else since then. However, this showed knowledge that he could not have obtained without at least a bit of experience of being with a girl.

She sighed and picked up the loose papers that formed the unfinished story Harry had been working on when she'd interrupted, and frowned to find a page missing. She scrambled around the room, flipping back through the rest of the bound pages she'd already read, and checked on and under every surface she could see, but could find the page nowhere. She was at a loss, and then with a single thought, every muscle in her body tensed up, and she breathed out, " _NO_ ," because there was only one other place it could be.

* * *

Chapter two is about half done and will be published in the next few days. Thank you to the ladies and gents of the HG/MM Fan Club group on Facebook (recently re-established as "The HG/MM Group (Take Two)" after it was randomly deleted) for both the idea and support. Y'all are marvelous. Special thanks to Jen (Sela McGrane) for help with the story title, and to SassyKinglet21 for being a great muse and friend.


	2. Chapter 2

There are excerpts in this story, taken and slightly modified from my previous body of work. If you are interested in the source stories, the excerpts are labeled with the title of the source piece and the chapter from which it was taken. I have taken nothing from other writers. (Well, except the characters, etc belong to Jo, of course. But I'm only playing around for a bit and mean no copyright infringement.)

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was sat in her desk chair, tiredly looking through the budget revisions she'd been out collecting earlier. Almost without fail, every department had gone over their allotted funds, but that wasn't surprising. Most years, nearly everyone apart from Potions and the Hospital Wing would come in far under, and it allowed her to share the surplus with the departments who fell short. However, this was a different sort of year. They had an entire extra year's worth of students, thanks to those who came back to complete their education after the war was over. It was an argument with the Board of Governors to which she was not looking forward, but they had been fairly understanding thus far, and hopefully would approve the additional funds they needed to restock before the next year began.

Coming to the last parchment in the stack, she glanced through the numbers and noticed that while the Herbology department had, in fact, come in a bit over budget, Pomona had not gone as far as most, thanks to the nature of most magical plants and their abilities to rapidly reproduce from cuttings and trimmings rather than waiting for carefully cultivated seeds. The Hufflepuff Head had known far enough ahead of time to prepare and grow more, and had gotten the greenhouses back up and functional very quickly after the Battle was over in order to get the extra work done. With a few student helpers, Neville Longbottom amongst them, the greenhouses and the plants contained therein had been in tip-top shape long before the September term had begun.

Minerva picked up the parchment and her finger found a slightly sticky patch on the bottom – doubtlessly some sort of plant sap had rubbed off of Pomona's hands. It couldn't be filed away in this condition, so Minerva flipped it over, wand at the ready with a mild cleansing charm. She was surprised to see that a piece of thin white paper with faint blue lines had stuck to the back as well, affixed to a different bit of sap, and she wondered at the paper's origins. She gently removed it and cast the cleansing charms, banishing the parchment away to its place in the filing cabinets in the next room.

In an effort to ascertain the extra document's origins, she against cast the mild cleansing charms to get rid of the remaining sticky spot, and began reading the words handwritten thereon.

She hadn't made it too far down the page when she felt a blush creeping up her chest and into her neck and cheeks. This was … this was a fairly explicit pornographic scene featuring two women, one of them being Hermione Granger. The identity of her partner hadn't yet been revealed, and the writing wasn't perfect, but what was there was enough to get Minerva's blood pumping.

 _Her long black hair fell free of its customary bonds, and she removed her spectacles, setting them on the bedside table with care. Hermione lay spread before her on the bed, flushed and panting, eyes glittering brightly from beneath her half-opened eyelids. She licked at her lips unconsciously, tasting her lover on her tongue, remembering the slick feel of her sex upon it as she'd pleasured her only moments earlier._

 _She began slowly unbuttoning her trademark emerald robes, keeping her eyes on Hermione as she lay there watching with obvious interest. The folds of cloth began moving apart, falling to the sides as the heavy velvet slipped from her shoulders and fell to the floor with a quiet whump, revealing the thin silk of her inner robe in a pale shade of jade. Her hands rose to drift down her torso, the skimming touch pebbling her nipples, making them clearly visible through the soft material of her undergarment. Her hands reached the tie at the waist and tugged gently at the knot, allowing the silk to part, showing a thin expanse of pale skin in the gap._

 _She was overcome with nervousness as she stood there, partially revealed to her much younger paramour. What if she didn't like what she saw? She wasn't as taut and firm as she once had been – as Hermione was in that moment. What if Hermione didn't find her beautiful under her robes? She had scars, and she had blemishes, and she hadn't been made love to in so many years. What if she couldn't perform satisfactorily? Would she send the younger woman running, screaming from her chambers?_

 _Her hands were shaking as they gripped the silk belt, her confidence wavering. Oh, she shouldn't do this._

 _But then there was Hermione's voice at her ear, whispering, "Allow me," and her hands were covered with the warmth of Hermione's fingers as they slid the narrow strip of delicate fabric out of her hands, widening the gap in the front of the robe. "Hermione, I... I'm not…"_

" _Not what? Not eighteen? Not perfect? Darling, I knew all of this and more long before I fell in love with you, and yet here I am." Hermione's hands rose to cup her face, thumbs tracing the crow's feet at her eyes._

" _But I have scars. Unsightly scars. I'm… I'm a bit embarrassed to show you."_

" _Do I not have scars? And were you not tracing them with your tongue less than ten minutes ago, telling me how those things which do not kill us only serve to make us stronger? Do you think so little of me to not believe I would feel the same way about you? I love you, Minerva, scars, imperfections, and all. For all of them combined make you no less perfect in my eyes. You are far more than the sum total of your parts, and you," she paused to lower her head to kiss at one of the puckered scars from the stunners she'd taken during Umbridge's tenure at the school, "are," she slipped the silk from her shoulders, letting it swish to the floor to join the velvet of her outer robes, and placing a kiss on the second patch of puckered skin, "utterly magnificent." She pressed a final kiss to the last of the stunning scars, hands moving down her back and pulling her forward until her knees bumped at the edge of the mattress._

" _Now," she whispered, breath puffing against the shell of her ear, "let me love you." Her hands drifted down to caress and squeeze at Minerva's soft cheeks._

 _Her blood was boiling, and all her insecurities vanished as she turned her head and brushed her nose lightly against Hermione's, their lips grazing as she said, "Yes."_

Minerva's breath was coming in short bursts as she reached the end of the page. It was her. She was the other woman with Hermione in this work of fiction. It was clearly not Hermione's work; Minerva knew her handwriting all too well after grading all of her too-long essays over the years. This handwriting was also familiar, but she couldn't quite pinpoint who had written this … this … smut. This smut. She couldn't think of a better word to assign to the words on the paper. It was so realistic, down to the scars on her chest from those dreadful stunners.

Who, in Merlin's name, would have such information about her?

She was convinced that she'd picked the paper up when Hermione had run into her earlier, and while she knew Hermione hadn't penned the story, she would surely know who had. She took a few minutes to compose herself, and on impulse, poured herself a finger of good whiskey, steeling her nerves for the conversation to come.

* * *

Hermione knew all she could do was wait, but couldn't bear the thought of even looking at her boys just then. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to look Harry in the eye again after reading his sordid little fantasies that tended to be just a little too real for her. His descriptions were just a little too accurate – too close for comfort. With this in mind, and knowing that Ron had read at least one story, she remembered that lecherous leer in the Library, and she felt a bit nauseous.

She loved Ron. He was one of her best friends, but she did not need him to have an even semi-accurate mental image of her naked.

She was curled up on the bed the Room had provided for her, and her mind was rapidly cycling through the scenes she'd read. She wondered how it would feel to actually be able to do some of those things with the object of her affections, to feel those hands running through her hair and over her bare skin, to feel those fingers as they dipped into her core and moved over the sensitive skin, to have her warm, wet tongue caressing her most sensitive spot.

She flipped over to her back, breaths short as she imagined going through one of the scenarios. Eyes tightly screwed shut, she moved her own hands over her body on top of her clothes, and pretended they were Minerva's instead. The muffled contact wasn't nearly enough, however, and drawing her magic up for a burst of wandless magic, she banished her clothes from her body to sit, folded neatly on one of the comfortable chairs by the fire.

Skin on skin, she continued her fantasy, plucking at her hardened nipples with one hand while the other skimmed lower, over her belly and down to dip into her curls to find herself wetter than she ever had before. Her back arched as she imagined Minerva's fingers pressing against her clit before slipping in and curling in just the right way, the heel of her palm picking up the pressure where she needed it. Her breaths were coming in short spurts, and as her fingers moved quickly in and out, rocking her palm against the sensitive bundle of nerves, she could feel the build-up of energy low in her belly, flaring out to set her skin on fire, and she moaned jaggedly, Minerva's name just on the tip of her tongue, and as the energy dam burst, flooding her fingers with slick fluid, her mouth spilled the name loudly, echoing through the Room of Requirement.

She pulled her hands away and threw her arms out to the sides, lying there spread-eagled as she came down from her high. She knew she should feel ashamed for using the woman's image – and the images from Harry's stories – to pleasure herself, but in that moment, she found she simply couldn't. It had just been too good to worry about things like shame.

Her breaths were just coming back to normal when she caught a flash of light hovering over her closed eyes, prompting her to open them. Standing there on her naked chest, was a bluish-white tabby cat, made of light and happy thoughts. Minerva's Patronus began to speak upon being recognized, her crisp tones ringing through the quiet room. "Miss Granger, I would like to see you in my office at your earliest convenience. Right away would be preferable, but if you must delay, could you please let me know when I should expect you?" Having delivered its message, the cat evanesced.

Hermione sat up and scrubbed her hands over her eyes. It appeared her reprieve was over and the Headmistress had discovered the missing page. She breathed deeply and summoned her wand. Concentrating on her happiest memories, she conjured up her ethereal otter Patronus, sending a quick message to let Minerva know that she would be there within the quarter-hour. After the playful light creature gamboled through the door on its way to deliver its message, she took a moment to cast a quick cleaning charm over her body, concentrating especially on the apex of her thighs and her hand to clear the sticky fluids and smell of sex away. She stood and dressed herself and gathered up the bundles of papers from the desk.

Her hand was on the door to open it when she caught sight of herself in a long mirror. In her school uniform, she looked every bit the student, and she very much did not want to be seen as a student for this meeting. Again flourishing her wand, she concentrated on what she wanted, and her pleated woolen skirt was transfigured into a pair of slim-fitting charcoal trousers, her white cotton shirt was changed into a dove-grey silk long-sleeved oxford, the top two buttons left open, and her Gryffindor sweater drew its sleeves up and transformed into a vest, the front pieces matching her trousers, and the back made of black satin.

She was pleased with the overall look, and started to charm her hair into a better semblance of order, but her hand stopped before finishing the wand movements. Her hair was such an integral part of who she was… rather than trying to slick it back and straighten it out, she instead pulled it back into a simple ponytail, low on the nape of her neck. It was still her wild mane, but it was just that little bit contained, and she thought it was perfect.

She stowed her wand and the papers away in her little beaded bag, wondering why she hadn't thought to do it before leaving the Library earlier. It would have saved her quite a bit of trouble. _Ah well. Onward and upward,_ she thought as she stepped out of the Room and into the hallway.

* * *

The heavy oak door swung in, silently allowing her entrance to the office.

Hermione stepped through, nerves shoving her stomach up into her throat, and as the door thunked closed behind her, she swallowed hard.

"Have a seat, Miss Granger," came the voice behind the desk.

One foot moved, followed by the other in a repeating pattern, as she tried to keep her fingers from fidgeting and her eyes from looking at the floor. Reaching the chair facing the large desk, she sat with her back straight and her hands folded into her lap, her feet nervously stepping over each other at the toe. Unable to try and look Minerva in the eye, she stared at the uncluttered top of the desk and the sparse knick-knacks covering it.

There was a thin wooden box on the left side, which she knew was for holding blank sheets of parchment. In the center stood a heavy brass piece with a felt bottom, holding a pot of black Indian ink, a nibbed pen laying in the thin groove along the middle, with a quill standing upright in the tiny cup on the end opposite the inkpot. On the right side of the desk was a simple wooden in/out tray, and there, right in the middle of the desk, in front of the desk's current owner, was a white sheet of loose-leaf paper, covered in the scrawling script of her best friend. She winced as her eyes came across the paper, and she risked looking up at the occupant of the chair.

Minerva felt as Hermione's eyes finally moved to her, and raised one eyebrow imperiously, sliding the paper across the desk toward her. "I'm sure you've surmised by now the reason behind my summons. I can't think of anywhere else I could have picked this up today apart from when I ran into you earlier, and although I am well aware this is not your handwriting, I find myself in a curious position of having to ask who it is who does have this kind of knowledge of myself and is not ashamed to write such things."

Hermione sighed, casting her gaze back at her feet, simply unable to look at Minerva any longer.

"The thing is, Professor…" she began before being interrupted.

"Under the circumstances, I quite think you should use my name. This is not a conversation an educator regularly has with a student."

Hermione's heart thudded in her chest. "Erm, alright… Minerva." She paused to swallow, her tongue feeling thick and heavy in her mouth. "The thing is, last week, I admitted to a couple of my friends that I thought… well, that I'm fairly certain, actually… that I'm more attracted to women than to men," Minerva's eyes widened slightly, unseen by Hermione as she continued, "and I found earlier today – just before I ran into you – that this admission … erm, inspired one of those friends to write these sordid stories about myself, and I was – I am! – completely mortified by this. I am ever so sorry that you had to suffer through finding out about it this way, well, really, that you had to find out at all."

"I appreciate your honesty, and that you are trying to protect your friend, but there are details about me – about my person – in the page I read to which nobody at this school should be privy. I need for you to tell me who the author is so I can ascertain how they came about this information."

Hermione blinked and risked looking back up at Minerva, shocked to see a hint of color on her high cheeks. "It seemed a little too real to you, as well? There was a birthmark of mine mentioned that I'm fairly certain he's never had the opportunity to see."

Minerva frowned. "I don't recall any mention of a birthmark."

"It was in one of the others."

The color in Minerva's cheeks brightened, and she squeaked out, "Others? There are _more_?"

"Several more, yes," Hermione admitted.

"Sweet Merlin," she leaned back in her chair, reaching up to pull off her glasses and pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes closed. "Are they all like this one?"

"In subject matter, yes. Some are better and some are worse, but essentially, they're all …"

"Smut."

"Erm, yes."

Minerva sighed deeply, pinching more tightly at her nose. "Hermione, I know you want to protect this friend of yours, but I really must know who he or she is."

Hermione thought for a moment before asking, "What will his punishment be?"

"This late in the year, there's very little I can do, punishment-wise, if we're being honest, but…" Minerva inhaled sharply, mentally reviewing what she'd read. "…I need to know who it is. I need to know how they know the details mentioned. Has this person been spying on me; invading my privacy? If it comes about that the incident is one of stalking, it will have then gone past my purview as an educator to punish, and the case will have to be handed over to the Aurory for legal prosecution."

"And if I can assure you that this is not the case?"

"The need to investigate still stands. Surely you can understand my position here."

"I'm as implicated as you in the subject matter, and I'm even more disturbed by the knowledge the stories would impart to strangers if the stories were to get out and become widespread."

"It's hardly the same thing for you as for myself."

"How is it different?" Hermione stood and pulled out her bag, reached in, and pulled out the bound sets of paper, angrily scattering them across the wide desktop in front of her, narrowly missing toppling the inkwell over. "I fuck you just as hard as you fuck me in these fantasies of a teenaged boy."

To say that Minerva was shocked at the action and the vulgar language was an understatement. She rose to her feet. "Miss Granger!"

"I thought we were past titles for this conversation, _Minerva_. Now, how exactly is it different for me to be called out as a lesbian in my friend's writings as it is for you? Is it because I actually am one?"

"Perhaps it's because I am as well!" Her voice rang out in the office, causing scattered murmurs from the portraits on the wall. The two of them stood facing each other for a moment, one stunned by the admission itself, and the other astonished at the words that had escaped her mouth before her brain could catch up.

Once the moment of silence passed, Minerva slumped back down into her chair. She reached up to remove her eyeglasses again, tossing them carelessly on the desk with the scattered stories before reapplying pressure to the bridge of her nose. "Damn you, Hermione."

Hermione sat back down abruptly, thoughts swirling around her head and silence stretching between the two women. "Harry. It was Harry. I told him last week about being gay and about this impossible crush I have on a teacher who could never in a million years also be into women, and he said the images just wouldn't leave his head until he wrote them down. He intended to burn them once it all stopped, but I caught him writing earlier. Apparently Ron caught him last night and read one, but that was it. I don't believe him to be a stalker, and do not wish to press charges. It's not worth the embarrassment of allowing anyone from the MLE to read them, even if it were true, and I just don't think it is."

"Potter," she asked, voice a monotone. "And Mister Weasley has read at least one of them as well." She sighed. "It could have been worse, I suppose. It could have been Mister Finnegan who found him out."

"Seamus would have blown the dormitory up if he'd been allowed to read any of that."

Minerva's lips twitched behind her hand. "Indeed. His mother should have just named him 'Boom' to save us all a bit of time."

Hermione snickered quietly.

"Well," began Minerva as she straightened in her chair and slipped her spectacles back on, "this really only leaves one question then, doesn't it?"

"And what question is that? I admit I have more than one."

"Of course you do." Minerva's lips turned up into one of her rare smiles. "I would expect no less from you. However, the question I had in mind was … What do we do now?"

Hermione brightened up. "I have some ideas."

* * *

Minerva had her doubts on a couple points of the plan, but allowed that Hermione knew her boys better than she did, and gave in, accepting her expertise.

She used a House Elf to first summon Ron to her office. When he walked in, he gave her the same knowing leer he'd given to Hermione earlier in the Library, causing her doubts to vanish. Taking a page from her old mentor's book, she offered him a lemon drop laced with Veritaserum. Albus had been notorious for applying a similar potion – one which promoted the ideas of trust and truth-telling – to his own candies, but to imbue a single piece of candy with three full drops of Veritaserum was a bit further than he'd gone.

Ron would never have taken a drop from Dumbledore, but this was McGonagall, and she didn't do those things! So he took one and popped it in his mouth. As soon as the candy finished dissolving on his tongue, he entered the trance-like state of someone dosed with the strong truth-potion. Hermione came out of hiding then, and began questioning him about the story. Yes, he'd read it, and had enjoyed the erotic imagery, but no, he had not discussed it with anyone – not yet, at least.

Hermione then used one of her least-favorite spells on her friend and took away his memories of having seen Harry writing, of having read the story, and of the very idea of the two women being any more than an educator and student with a blooming friendship. When she was finished, she removed his memory of being in the office as well, sending him to the Pitch for flying practice, where he would believe he had been since leaving the tower earlier.

Left alone in the office once again, Minerva broached the subject that neither one had had the courage talk about yet. "Hermione… earlier, you said that when you admitted to Harry your preferences, you also told him you had an unrequited crush on one of your professors?"

Hermione blushed despite herself. "I did."

"You … you haven't acted on this crush, have you? I know you and my staff all well enough to know that such an affair wouldn't impact your class performance and wouldn't be reflected in your grades, but has there been any inappropriate behavior?"

She choked as she swallowed, covering it with a cough. "Erm, no. There's been no untoward conduct."

"Oh. Well. That's good then. Have you spoken with her about it yet? Are the feelings returned?" Minerva couldn't look at her while asking these questions, choosing instead to idly sift through the stack of papers in an effort to keep her eyes and hands occupied.

"I have not spoken with her about yet, no."

"Is it someone you studied under this term? Is there any way a blossoming relationship could be misconstrued?"

"She has not been my professor for the last two years."

Minerva's brow drew together in confusion. "I don't recall you dropping any classes after your sixth year."

"Mmm," Hermione softly hummed out. "You are correct. I didn't drop any classes."

"Then how…"

"She hasn't been my professor, as she received a bit of a promotion."

"Promotion? I'm afraid I don't understand." Eyes glued to the papers and still not seeing a word written on them, Minerva missed as Hermione came around the side of the desk to stand beside her.

"You see, my Crush … my Transfiguration professor seems to have been promoted to Headmistress."

Clear green eyes shot open and upward, searching Hermione's face for signs of malice or trickery. Finding none, she continued to stare, stunned into silence. Gryffindors were notorious for wearing their hearts on their sleeves, and though what she could read on Hermione was not quite love, there was something… burgeoning feelings that could quickly go to that place, sitting just on top of a smoldering heat, a deep wanting. "Hermione…"

"I thought you would have figured me out after reading the stories. Who else could my crush have been to inspire Harry to write about me and you together?" Her hand settled on Minerva's shoulder as she stood over her.

"I'm … I'm flattered."

"You're more than flattered. I know this can't really become anything until I'm officially no longer a student and you are officially in no position of authority over me, but I have hope. More now than I did before this whole thing happened, actually. I would never have even thought you were similarly inclined toward women, but you've disabused me of that notion, and I find myself in a deliciously curious position of having to ask if there might be the possibility of more at a later time."

"I… I don't know. You are one of my students, and I've never thought of any of my students in that way. There's a possibility, given what I do know of you, but although I was your Head of House and Professor for six years, I don't actually know you all that well. I say we remedy that first, and see what happens from there, if you're amenable to it."

"I have one condition."

"A condition?"

"Yes. I have one condition to being patient and getting to know each other."

Minerva sighed lightly. "What is this condition?"

"A kiss. I want one kiss now. If it goes badly and there's no chemistry, then we can still get to know one another as friends and simply remain that way, no harm no foul. However, if the chemistry is there, as I suspect it will be, it will give us something concrete we can look forward to after getting to know each other better."

"That actually makes sense, not that I'd expect less from you." Minerva stood, Hermione taking a step back to give her room and moving her hand down over Minerva's shoulder where it had been sitting, over her shoulder and down her side to rest at her waist, her other hand taking the same position on the other side.

Minerva reached up and cupped Hermione's cheeks in her hands, thumbs brushing lightly over her cheeks, looking down into her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Hermione's tongue darted out to moisten her lips. "I have never been more certain in my life."

"Alright then." Both of their eyes drifted closed as Minerva's head descended, closing the gap as she turned ever so slightly to prevent their noses from bumping. Their lips were a hair's-breadth apart when she stopped, pausing to get a breath. The warmth washed over Hermione's face, and without a warning, she pushed up while gripping Minerva's robes with her fists, and the kiss began in earnest.

It was very soft and innocent at first; a simple prolonged meeting of lips before Hermione pulled back just slightly. One of Minerva's hands moved back to pull the hair elastic away, freeing the long curly mass from its ponytail before tangling her fingers into it and pulling her back, their lips meeting again, moving against each other. Soon, the kiss was deepened and neither was sure after who started it, but tongues were sliding and moving and caressing and hands were roaming over backs and sides, Minerva's right hand still buried in the thick curls at the base of Hermione's neck.

This went on for several minutes before Hermione broke it off, pulling Minerva as close as she could and nestling her head in Minerva's chest, tucked under her chin. She could feel the racing flutters of Minerva's heart beating against her cheek.

Minerva was struggling to catch her breath, holding Hermione against her as tightly as Hermione was clinging to her, resting her cheek atop Hermione's head. "I'd say your theory was completely confirmed."

"So would I."

"Would you like to come spend some time at my home this summer, or have you plans already?"

"I was going to help Harry clean up Grimmauld and make it habitable, and take the summer to sift through all my options, but the house shouldn't take more than a month, and the options-sifting can be done from anywhere. I'd love to come visit."

"Good. That's settled."

"Good."

Neither wanted to leave the warmth of the embrace, so they stood there for several minutes, soaking in the contact.

"As much as I hate to let you go," Minerva began, "We do have a final detail to take care of."

"Harry?"

"Harry."

* * *

They ended up solving the Harry problem by giving him a book he could write his sordid fantasies into. Once a story was completed, all he had to do was tap it with his wand, and the words would disappear from his book, and that was it – from his viewpoint. What he didn't know was that there was a paired book, and when the words were erased from his, they appeared in the other. Minerva had accepted his strange ability to write such intimate details about her and Hermione, but she also wanted to keep track of how far his imagination would take him.

After the Leaving, Hermione went to Grimmauld with Harry and an oblivious Ron, and Minerva wrapped up her end-of-year duties before leaving for her family home in the northern highlands. Grimmauld Place was completely renovated in three weeks, during which time, Minerva and Hermione frequently corresponded. Once it was finished, Hermione packed her things and Apparated to Hogsmeade to meet Minerva so that she could side-along Hermione to her home.

Over the next seven weeks, the two women got to know each other, and as they grew closer, Minerva noted that the entries showing up in her book were coming in slower. At the end of the summer, Hermione had planned on going back to Grimmauld and staying with Harry while she began her Ministry career, but Minerva convinced her to stay there in her cottage, vowing to come home every weekend she could get away. Hermione had fallen in love with the cottage in a hidden glade, surrounded by rocky hills and rich heather, its own small loch behind the house, and so she agreed.

As the next year passed, the two adjusted to life as an official couple. Harry's stories were coming in about once a month by the time June came back around. When Minerva returned to the cottage for the summer, she and Hermione could hold back no longer, lingering kisses and cuddles turning into a marathon love-making session. Each scar, each blemish, every inch of their bodies was carefully loved, kissed, and caressed.

A couple of weeks later, Hermione received a note from Harry, attached to a package. The package contained the little book, and the note explained that he hadn't had a single dream or fantasy in two weeks, and the compulsion was finally gone, therefore he was returning the book to the two of them with his best wishes for their future.

Five years passed in a very similar fashion – Hermione living in the cottage year-round, with Minerva making visits nearly every weekend until the summer, which was their most cherished time. Hermione was growing frustrated with the Ministry, and Minerva found herself without a Potions Master when Horace Slughorn finally decided he'd once again had enough of teaching.

That summer saw Hermione sitting exams to test her acumen in Potions and her ability to teach, and when the summer ended, she returned to Hogwarts with Minerva, newly married, as neither wanted to keep their relationship a secret, but neither did they want to present the wrong picture to the students.

At the pre-term Staff Meeting, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was proud to present their newest Potions Mistress, Professor Hermione Granger-McGonagall, who, for simplicity's sake, would simply be going by Professor Granger. There were a few murmurs of shock, but all seemed to accept it after seeing how in love they were.

On 1st September, the cacophony of the gathered student assemblage could be heard through the back door used by the School Head when arriving for meals.

"Are you nervous?"

"A bit, but at least I have you by my side."

"Aye, you'll always have that, _a thaisce._ "

"I love you, Minerva."

"And I love you, Hermione."

Minerva leaned in and quickly pressed her lips against her wife's before pulling away with a smile. Hand in hand, they walked through the door to face their futures.

* * *

I struggled for a day or two over exactly how I wanted to end this, and finding just the right words for a very key conversation here. But I finally found the right words, and thus, this little story is finished.

I also admit that I took a full day on Monday to grieve without picking up my proverbial pen after learning of the death of David Bowie, whose music I have adored forever. I have always said that music is my truest religion, and his death hit me hard, but tonight I sat down with determination, because just days before he passed, he released a new album, recorded while struggling through his cancer, and I could do no less than finish.

Thank you all for your support and for your reviews. It means the world.


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